


Dear Departed Mustache

by dagas isa (dagas_isa)



Category: Firefly
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, First Time, One True Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-24
Updated: 2011-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dagas_isa/pseuds/dagas%20isa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wash thinks it's time for him and his best look to part ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Departed Mustache

To tell the truth, Wash has always been quite fond of his cookie duster. In his opinion, it gives him a rather dapper—possibly, even dashing—air to him, where he would otherwise be that scrawny, slightly off-kilter boy he had been before his discovery of facial hair. His mustache had been a companion of sorts. It had seen him through flight school and at least five other ships before he found himself on this one, and found her.

Wash tried convincing, cajoling, even possibly a bit of pouting—he makes a good pouty lip, he thinks—but Zoe stood her ground, and as Wash looks himself in the eye through the small mirror in his bunk, he feels oddly okay with that. It's been a long journey, but maybe the time has come for him and his best look to part ways.

\--

The downside (possible upside) to shaving is that when Wash sees Zoe again, he can't segue into the conversation of their possible themness by asking if she'd like a mustache ride, so he ends up trying to say something that he hopes translates to, "I love you and I think you're the most desirable woman on all planets and for the love of all that's holy please let me make love to you for the rest of our lives" but probably comes out as more of a stammer.

But that's fine because one look at his bare lip and Zoe just gives a self-satisfied smile, and a "Meet me in my bunk after dinner."

Wash can definitely deal.

\--

A lot of the first evening passes in a blur. He remembers curls coming exuberantly undone from their leather tie, and underwear designed by what must have been the staunchest utilitarian to ever live. He does remember the scent in her room, an exotic mix of orange and cinnamon, and her impatient look when he explains that he hasn't gotten around to disrobing yet because he's trying to savor the moment. And he remembers her response that he can savor her when he's naked.

Zoe makes good on that promise. She presses him flat on the bed and straddles his face. His hands reach up and grab the wonderful contradiction that is her backside, splendidly curved and yet firm and muscular. She grinds against his mouth, and brushes her hands through his hair. Those gorgeous warrior-woman thighs pin him to the bed and keep his mouth exactly where he needs to be while Zoe trembles and then rides him again.

And after that, the night sort of mixes together. Somewhere along the line she decides she's had enough of his face and moves on to other places, and somehow—Wash really isn't quite sure when it happened, or even how many times they did it that night—their interconnecting parts latch on to one another and wowee.

Wash does end up staying the first night in Zoe's bunk. And the second. And the third. Wash thinks it's the morning after the night he kisses each and every one of her battle scars that they both decide to just admit they've moved in together since Wash has at least a quarter of his dinosaur collection, his three favorite shirts, and his shaving kit there already.

He doesn't miss the mustache.


End file.
